


Scarred Hearts

by writeranthea



Category: 17th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Fix-It of Sorts, Friedrich's A+ Parenting, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mother-Son Relationship, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeranthea/pseuds/writeranthea
Summary: Berlin, 1694. A glance upon the relationship between Sophie Charlotte and her only child, Friedrich Wilhelm.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Scarred Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, this is rather short and far from the best thing that I ever wrote. I would've loved to write a longer story, but with my internship AND a minor writer's block happening it's... yeah :-/ 
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> A/N: I posted this story on AO3. If you see it on any other website or platform, please consider that I did not consent to it.

Friedrich Wilhelm had been her miracle, and Sophie Charlotte had told everyone around her just that. Whether it had been her mother, her six brothers, her husband or her chambermaids - she had never hesitated to tell them how much of a sent-by-god miracle her beloved son was in her eyes.

After she had been forced to leave her home in Osnabrück behind to marry a man that had still been grieving the loss of his first wife - _the love of his life_ , as Friedrich had stated it all so often, after Sophie Charlotte had been forced to watch her first child, Friedrich August, succumb to a fever at just three months old and had suffered from a miscarriage at the end of the same year, Friedrich Wilhelm had been her blessing. Her own little piece of heaven at a court that easily could have been her hell. The boy had been something that Sophie Charlotte had been able to hold on to, figuratively as well as literally speaking, when her husband would spend night after night in the company of his countless harlots and manwhores.

She had never grown to love Friedrich, and she had been more than reassured that Friedrich had not wanted to leave the loss of his beloved Elisabeth Henriette behind him. Oh, she had absolutely adored her only child - her only living child, at that, and every member of the Berliner court could see it every day anew. _Her Highness is spoiling the child_ would be muttered behind raised hands and opened fans when Sophie Charlotte would enter the grand salon of the palace, the ginger-haired child resting on her hip and her entourage flocking around her. Despite Friedrich’s order to have a nursemaid assigned for the boy, she had vehemently refused to accept the presence of another woman between her and her son for as long as it would have been possible.

Friedrich Wilhelm had, for nearly the first five years of his life, been an utter angel. With a head full of red curls and big, innocent blue eyes, he had managed to wrap nearly every single person around his little finger. One look out of his doe-like eyes, and Sophie Charlotte had allowed him to stay with her for the night. One protruding of his wobbly bottom lip, and she had made sure that her precious Fritz would get whatever it had been that his little heart had desired. Not only had she been utterly enamoured with her son, the boy had clung to his mother’s leg more than any of the children that had been present at court.

Sophie Charlotte’s heart had ached every time that she had realised it. Friedrich had cared so heartbreakingly little for his only son and heir. Whenever young Friedrich Wilhelm would run towards his father, his childish laughter filling out the space around him, to throw his arms around his father’s legs, Friedrich would seldomly do more than grunt in acknowledgement and pat the top of Friedrich Wilhelm’s head before he would ordered the boy to remove his arms and step away from him.

Considering how loving her own father had always been with her, it had broken Sophie Charlotte’s heart every time that she had been forced to watch how her beloved son had come back to her, his little shoulders slumped and his chubby, angelic face glistering with tears. She had never been able to fathom how her husband had it in him to turn such a heartless side out towards the little boy - especially since it had been known that Friedrich’s father had despised his crippled heir. Sophie Charlotte had been more than equipped to deal with her husband’s aversion towards her, but she had not been willing to accept the behaviour that he had been treating their son with.

However, there had been little that she could have done and the older that Friedrich Wilhelm had turned, the more undeniable it had become that the boy had begun to realise that there had been none, and if all a bad relationship between him and his father. The children that Friedrich Wilhelm had spend his free time with had, in most cases, accompanied their fathers, who had stood in the electoral’s service, and the older that her son had become, the more questions he had begun to ask her.

_“Maman, when will Papa come to see me?”_

_“Why does Papa not take me onto a walk as well?”_

_“Maman, will Papa take me riding as well?”_

Sophie Charlotte had been unable to do more than to kiss her son’s chubby cheeks and tell him that the day would eventually come. It had been a lie - but Friedrich Wilhelm had believed her. He had always believed her, and she had felt undeniably guilty when he had looked up at her with hope-filled eyes.

Despite Friedrich’s open lack of interest in his son and his affection towards harlots and manwhores, the first few years of Friedrich Wilhelm’s childhood had been almost divine tranquility for Sophie Charlotte. 

The apparent peace had begun to crumble a bit when the boy’s sweet and uttermost endearing behaviour had turned bad at more frequent occasions. Friedrich Wilhelm had been a few weeks short of his fifth birthday when he had went through his first ever tantrum. Sophie Charlotte had been sitting in a chair, getting her hair brushed in order to have it put into a braid for the night, while her son had been peacefully playing on the floor at her feet, a soft clinking noise the only proof of the boy’s game. She had hummed in content before she had spoken.

“What are you playing with, mon cœr?”, she had asked him with the sweet voice that she had always used in his presence, and had cracked one eye open to look down at her son. Friedrich Wilhelm’s curls had bounced as he had snapped his head around.

“Uh... nothing, Maman,” the boy had chirped and had, once he had risen onto his feet, held his hands behind his back in anything but an guiltless gesture. Sophie Charlotte could not have done but to smile at the childish act of pretentious innocence.

“What are you holding behind your back, my love?”

“Nooothing,” Friedrich Wilhelm had merely repeated, batting his eyelashes like he had done it all so often.

She had shaken her head, “I asked you a question, Fritz. What did I tell you about lying?” Her son’s chubby cheeks had gained a pink hue, and he had muttered something that Sophie Charlotte had not understood before he had shifted from foot to foot and had brought his hands to his front again, thus revealing what he had held grasped into one of his small hands. Sophie Charlotte had gasped - it had been one of her diamond barrettes, which had been a gift from her mother. Friedrich Wilhelm must have gotten it from the dressing table when neither she nor the chambermaid had paid any attention to what he had been doing. “Give it here, mon petit.”

She had held out a hand, expecting her son to hand the barrette over, but Friedrich Wilhelm had taken a step backwards. “No!” It had not only been her, but the chambermaid as well who had gasped at the way that the boy’s snarl had resounded through the bedroom, and Sophie Charlotte had wordlessly ordered the maid to remove her fingers from her hair with a wave of his hand to be able to sit up straight in her chair. Friedrich Wilhelm’s eyes had grown wide and he had taken yet another step back when she had slowly sat up. “Come here, Fritz.”

“No,” her son had retorted, giving his head full of curls a vigorous shake as he had clutched the piece of jewlery against his chest as if it had been his most priced possession.

While it had been somewhat of an adorable sight - the trademark doe eyes and pushed-out bottom lip, Sophie Charlotte had known that she could not have possibly afforded to break in that specific situation. “Friedrich Wilhelm, _come here_.” She had waited with all the patience that she had, but the boy had not obeyed. “I was not asking you. Come here, this instant.” Friedrich Wilhelm had merely shaken his head. “It is not yours to take and it certainly is nothing for you to play with.”

When her son’s face had slowly begun to turn into an darker shade of red, Sophie Charlotte had feared that she had already known what had been coming her way. “ _No!_ ” She had pressed her lips together, and had heard the chambermaid gasp behind her when Friedrich Wilhelm had stomped his foot, had glared at his mother and had quickly hidden the barrette behind his back again. “It’s _mine!_ ”

Her own patience had since begun to run thin after the long day that had laid behind her, and so Sophie Charlotte had downright jumped up from the chair, onto her feet and had, before the little boy had any time to react, reached around him and had grasped him by the wrist. She had pulled him close with a quick tug and had twisted his arm from behind his back to forcefully free the barrette from the hold of his small hand. It had earned her another hard stomp of Friedrich Wilhelm’s foot, followed by an enraged grunt and she had let out a strangled gasp when her son’s small, balled-up fist had landed against her upper arm.

“I hate you, it’s mine! It’s mine, give it back!”

Despite the fact that her son had been no more than a four-year-old boy, the way that he had hit her had been surprisingly painful. Sophie Charlotte had not fathomed how her sweet boy had turned into a disobedient brat from one second to another. “Go to bed,” she had pressed out between her teeth as she had applied enough pressure to Friedrich Wilhelm’s wrist to make him whimper - she had sworn to herself that she would never hit him, but she had never been so close to let her hand do the speaking for her than she had been in that very moment. Friedrich Wilhelm had opened his mouth to speak. Sophie Charlotte had cut him off before he could have made a sound. “Go to bed, this instant!” It had been the first time that she had ever raised her voice against her son, “I do not want to see you for the rest of the evening! Go!” Oh, but she had regretted saying those words as soon as she had seen how little Friedrich Wilhelm’s face had paled and how the angry look in those lovable blue eyes had vanished to be replaced with tears. “Fritz...”

The boy’s sob had been a heartbroken and resounding one, and Sophie Charlotte had found her throat constricted by a lump when her son had run off. With a sigh of resignation, she had sunk back into the chair to make it possible for the maid to finish her hairdo. There had still been muffled cries audible when Sophie Charlotte had found herself standing in front of the closed door of her son’s bedroom. She had not meant to raise her voice against him. Swallowing hard, she had brought a hand up, had reached for the knob and had slowly opened the door to peak inside.

There had been a lump underneath the brocade covers on Friedrich Wilhelm’s bed. With a small smile growing on her face, and without saying a word, she had stepped inside, had closed the door behind her and had made her way over to where her son had hidden himself from the world. Nothing but sniffles had come from Friedrich Wilhelm as she had sat down on the mattress beside him. “Mon cœr?” Yet another sniffle followed, and the lump underneath the covers had shifted. Sophie Charlotte had smiled again as she had guided her hands underneath the covers to blindly search for her son’s head, driving her fingers into Friedrich Wilhelm’s hair as soon as she had found it. “Come out, my love,” she had whispered, not wanting to scare the boy off once more.

A few seconds of silence had passed until the shifting underneath the covers had intensified and two red-rimmed eyes had looked up at her out of a pinkened face. Oh, what a sight of heartbreak the boy had been. His usually pushed-out bottom lip had been caught between his teeth in a gesture of childish shame and Sophie Charlotte’s smile had turned a bit remorseful when Friedrich Wilhelm had rubbed at his already sore eyes with a small, balled-up fist. She had bend down to fold back the covers and press a light kiss into the mess of her son’s unusually coloured curls. “I am sorry mon petit,” she had whispered as she had brushed a curl of Friedrich Wilhelm’s forehead, “I should not have yelled at you like I did...”

“M-Maman?” The boy had sounded so utterly surprised that it had torn at the strings of Sophie Charlotte’s heart.

“Do you accept my apology?”

Friedrich Wilhelm had sniffled and had climbed onto his mother’s lap as quickly as his short limbs had only allowed it, throwing his arms around Sophie Charlotte’s neck. “Ma-Maman...” She had hummed when she had closed her arms around her son, pressing him close. Her heart had ached at the slight tremble that she had felt going through his body. “I’m sorry Maman, I’m _really_ sorry.”

“I know that you are sorry, mon cœr. Mais ce que tu as fait n'était pas très gentil, non?” Friedrich Wilhelm had not pulled back from where he had pressed his face against his mother’s chest as he had nodded, letting out a quiet little whimper. “You know that I love you, Fritz, do you not?” Another nod. “Je t'aime beaucoup, c'est pourquoi je n'accepterai aucun de ces comportements. If you behave so badly again, if you hit me, mon petit, you will not be allowed to leave the palace for an entire week.” Sophie Charlotte had a hunch that her words would gain her the entity of her son’s attention. She had been right, Friedrich Wilhelm’s head had shot up and two round, tear-filled eyes had looked up at her. Her son had loved the palace garden and the pleasure forest and everything that had belonged to it - she had lost count of how many times he had returned with mud-covered clothes and new stories about what he had discovered, and so for him to be forced to stay inside for a week had been as much of a threat as there only could have been for the four-year-old boy.

 _“Je - je promets de ne plus recommencer, Maman. Je serai bon, je promets._ ”

Her son had rarely ever answered to her in French, as he had his troubles with it, and so the smile that grew on her face had not only been due to what he had whispered. “You are already so good, my love,” she had answered, bringing up a hand to thread it into those ginger curls that she had always marveled about. “Most of the time, that is.”

Friedrich Wilhelm had pulled up his nose and had batted his eyelashes as he had done it all so often, “I’m really, _really_ sorry, Maman,” he had let out together with another sob before he had thrown himself around Sophie Charlotte’s neck once more. “Please do-on’t tell Papa.”

The words had been been spoken with nothing but a whisper, one so low that she nearly would have missed it. They had brought a twinge of bright, sharp pain to bloom in her chest and she had, involuntarily so, wished that she would not have caught them. “No, my love. You can be assured that I will not make it known to your father.”

While Friedrich had been rather comfortable with ignoring the presence of their son, he had found an apparent liking of scolding Friedrich Wilhelm whenever the boy would make a mistake. Friedrich would not only scold the boy, he would shout at him until the boy would break down into nothing but a mess of sobs. That Friedrich Wilhelm had been nothing but a four-year-old boy, just short of his fifth birthday, had never mattered to the Elector. He would order his son to his study and would shout at him for minutes on end, going on about _how his heir ought to behave himself_ and _how his heir must show more initiative_ and _how dissapointed he was_.

Sophie Charlotte had tightened the embrace he had on her young son when she had remembered how his father had hit him during the most recent one of those scoldings. Friedrich had argued that Sophie Charlotte’s dismay had been uttermost unnecessary, that a single slap on the face had been hardly anything extraordinary. She had not talked to him for three days afterwards, days during which Friedrich Wilhelm had vehemently refused to be anywhere but at his mother’s side.

“Maman?”

“Oui, mon cœr.”

The boy had pressed impossible closer into Sophie Charlotte’s embrace. “Can I sleep in your bed?” She had sighed inaudibly and had lazily combed the fingers of one hand through Friedrich Wilhelm’s curls. “Please, Maman.”

Whether Friedrich Wilhelm had been aware that his pleading had not been necessary, she had not known; Sophie Charlotte never would have had the heart to deny her son’s heartfelt wish. “Bien sûr, mon amour, si c'est ton désir.” The boy had let out a gasp of excitement and had, with his face brightened up by a smile, slithered out of his mother’s hold to move over the bed on hands and knees to grasp for the pair of wooden toy soldiers that had stood on the nightstand, toys that Friedrich Wilhelm had never gone without. “I’m ready!”

The smile that had grown on Sophie Charlotte’s face as she had watched her son had grown wider when Friedrich Wilhelm had shifted onto his knees and had held his arms up in unmistakable expectancy. She had not hesitated and had snorted softly as she had bend down to pick him up. “You are becoming too heavy for me to carry you, mon petit,” she had whispered after she had rested him on her hip, kissing one of his chubby cheeks. Friedrich Wilhelm had answered with no more than an indiscernible whine and had, as he had been rubbing at his eyes in a tired gesture, lowered his head to rest his cheek on Sophie Charlotte’s shoulder. She had not tried to start a conversation, well aware of how tired her son had been, and so she had done little more than cup her free hand against the back of Friedrich Wilhelm’s head before she had made her way back to her private rooms.

While the tantrum had turned out to have been less severe than she had feared for it to do, her worry had slowly crept back up into her mind when she had beckoned a chambermaid over to fold back the covers, thus enabling Sophie Charlotte to lay her son down onto one of the feathery pillow. “Maman?”

Tired as he had been, Friedrich Wilhelm had suddenly seemed so much younger than his four, almost five years of age and her breath had caught in her throat upon realising it. She had dismissed the chambermaid with a wordless gesture, had nodded in acknowledgement of the “Have a restful night, Your Highness” and had kept her gaze on her son for a few more seconds before she had moved to the other side of the bed.

“Je suis ici, mon cœr.” Friedrich Wilhelm had shuffled closer to her the very moment that she had laid down and she had wrapped an arm around him to keep him close, pressing a kiss into his ginger curls. Sophie Charlotte had chuckled quietly at the sight of the toy soldiers that her son had still been clutching in his hands. Oh, how much she had loved that boy... and how great her worry about his future had been. He had still been so incredibly young when he had fallen asleep in her arms that evening, his cheek leaned against her chest and his chubby hands never letting go of his precious toys and while Sophie Charlotte had been exhausted, she had failed found the much needed rest. Her fingers had absentmindedly continued to comb through Friedrich Wilhelm’s curls as her tired eyes had gazed down to watch the slight flutter of her son’s eyelashes.

It had still amazed her, sometimes, how Friedrich and her had brought something so precious into the world. Everyone had known how much she had adored her son, but it would only be her diary who would find out how immense her worry about him would grow to be. The prospect of her little Fritz growing up had been a frightening one, and as Sophie Charlotte had stared into the dimness of her bedroom, an equally frightening possibility had crept up in front of her inner eye. The possibility that her sweet son would grown up to resemble the enraged, spiteful boy rather than the child which had been sleeping in her arms had been an uttermost horrible one. She had unconsciously responded by tightening her hold on Friedrich Wilhelm, careful as not to wake him. “S'il vous plaît ne pas changer,” she had whispered, failing to swallow down the lump that had formed in her throat, “Je ne survivra pas si vous deviendrez comme votre père.”

The boy had not stirred, and Sophie Charlotte had been incredibly glad that he had not. She had continued to ponder for a little while longer, all while stroking her son’s hair and pressing light kisses into it every now and then between whispered words of adoration. Her heart had ached as her eyes had roamed over Friedrich Wilhelm’s face over and over again, taking in his porcelain skin and the features which had been so much like hers, despite the childlike chubbiness that had still defined them.

She had dreaded the moment when his childhood would be cut to an end, when he would be taken away from her and entrusted into the care of his father and the teachers that Friedrich would assign for him. Friedrich Wilhelm would be taken away from her, and she had known that the risk of them losing their relationship had been immense. It had happened to her brothers but she would have needed to be damned if she would stand by and watch it happen to her beloved son as well. Friedrich Wilhelm had, after all, been everything that she had gained ever since she had lost her home in Osnabrück. “ _Tu étais mon miracle_.”

Though a year later there was, as much as it had pained her to solely imagine it, little left from her miracle, her angel, her beloved Friedrich Wilhelm. Her son had, figuratively speaking, been taken away from him and replaced with a hellion. There truly was no other word that could have described the boy that her son had turned into, and not even Sophie Charlotte was able to deny it any longer. The change in Friedrich Wilhelm’s behaviour had been rapid and more dramatic than she ever would have believed it to be possible. Instead of the boy who would spend entire evenings happily sitting in her lap, there was a raging, ruthless electoral prince of whom not only the servants, but his mother was afraid of as well. She had never seen a child so angry, so filled with hate and the fact that Friedrich Wilhelm did not hesitate to beat anyone if it would only give him what his young heart desired was a devestating one.

No matter whether it was an adult or a child of roughly his age - Friedrich Wilhelm would use his small, balled-up fists against them. To be so utterly helpless in a situation so desperate was breaking her more from day to day. And not only because her son would turn his violent side out to her as well, but because it had since earned Friedrich Wilhelm the attention of his father in the most unfortunate way.

Friedrich, helpless as he was most of the time, did not see another approach to the boy’s change of nature than to try and beat it out of him. Oh, it was horrible. The sound of Friedrich Wilhelm’s cries resounding through to her would cause her to break down each and every time, leaving it for her entourage to try and lift her spirits while Friedrich would attempt to beat the anger out of their son. Friedrich Wilhelm would not allow his mother to comfort him, would only lock himself into his room afterwards and continue to sob until he would fall into an exhausted sleep. Sophie Charlotte was utterly helpless.

She refused to direct a single look at him whenever she would be seated at the same table as her husband, unable to think about anything other than the way that _those hands_ had hurt her son just moments ago. Sophie Charlotte swallowed down the little piece of meat pie that she had pierced onto her fork, the corners of her mouth pulling into an uncontrollable grimace as he watched Friedrich thoroughly enjoy his meal. She had never been more glad that she was no longer forced to share a bed with that man. When Friedrich looked up to meet her gaze, she refused to back down.

“What is it,” he snapped, keeping his eyes on her for no longer than a couple of seconds before he returned his gaze to the plate in front of him.

She could not have done but to answer. “My God, you truly are pathetic.” His cutlery clanged against his plate as he merely continued to eat. “Or would you beg to differ?” Sophie Charlotte huffed a disdainful laugh, feeling an ounce of gratification at the way that Friedrich’s knuckles had turned white. He knew what she was boldly, shamelessly hinting at. “I cannot fathom how you do it,” she merely went on, her heart beating strongly against its cage of rips as she tried to keep her emotions under control. “You say that you detest your father for what he did to you and yet-”

Friedrich cut her off by slamming his fist onto the table. “What do you know about it, woman,” he snarled through his clenched teeth, looking at her in a way that would have scared her if she would not have thought so pathetically little of him.

“Enough.”

“It is the only way that the boy will learn-”

“He is _a child!_ ”

“He is six years old, Sophie!” She looked at him with unmasked disbelief, not as surprised as she should have been. It made perfect sense. Friedrich no longer viewed their child as a child, and dread clutched at her heart with its iron hold as it came crashing over her just what his father’s treatment could possibly bring for Friedrich Wilhelm’s future. Sophie Charlotte had heard enough. Without taking another look at her husband she balled up her napkin, threw it onto the table and swiftfully stood from her chair. “Where do you think you are going?” A self-satisfactory smile ghosted over her face as the door fell close behind her and she found herself standing in the corridor.

Friedrich was a hopeless case, favouring his whores, female and male alike, over any other thing. But their son, young Friedrich Wilhelm... Sophie Charlotte would have given everything only to be given her miracle back. It would have been a blatant lie if she would have said that she did not miss the evenings during which Friedrich Wilhelm had succeeded to worm his way into her bed without her noticing it, when she had fallen asleep with her son securely held in her arms. She hurried down the corridor towards the part of the palace that housed their private apartments, but hesitated once she reached the door which lead to her son’s rooms. There were no sounds coming from within, only a silence which she rather would not have heard, considering the reason as for why her son was so quiet.

Friedrich Wilhelm always cried himself to sleep after his father had finished paying attention to him. Sophie Charlotte brought up a hand, reached for the handle and took a few moments to gather enough courage to open the door. “Mon petit?” As expected, no answer followed her whispered question and her breath caught in her throat when she caught a sight of her son sleeping on his bed.

Friedrich Wilhelm was lying on his stomach, his face turned towards her. Sophie Charlotte felt tears burning in her eyes when she took in his puffy eyes and reddened nose, and the first tear claimed its way down her face when her gaze became glued to her son’s backside. The boy was still wearing his shirt and brocade waitcoat, but his lower half was covered by no more than his underwear. Through the thin fabric, she was able to see just how red his skin was and if her heart would not have been broken and burning with hate for the man she had to call her husband, it would have began to do so then. Walking on the tips of her shoes to prevent the noise of her heels hitting against the wooden floor from waking her son, she walked across the room. Friedrich Wilhelm did not stirr when she sat down on the mattress beside him and threaded her fingers into his ginger curls.

“Je suis tellement désolé, mon amour,” she whispered, wiping at the tears that were leaving her eyes with the back of her free hand, “j'aimerais pouvoir faire plus.” Albeit having seen in more times that she could be bothered to count, Sophie Charlotte, in a way, still refused to accept that her beloved son had turned out to be such a vile person and she had a hunch that his behaviour may have been fuelled by the way that his father treated him. She continued to caress her son’s hair, listening to his breathing that was interrupted by little hitches even while he slept, acting as an unmistakable proof of what the boy had been forced to endure and eventually sunk so deeply into her thoughts that she did not notice the way that Friedrich Wilhelm’s face scrunched up and how red-rimmed, unusually vulnerable blue eyes gazed up at her almost hesitatingly.

“Ma-Maman?” The boy’s eyes grew wider when she flinched from the sudden presence of his voice.

“I apologise, I did not mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t wake me,” Friedrich Wilhelm replied, his words muttered low enough for them to nearly go by unheard. Sophie Charlotte desperately wished that the tension which hung so heavily between them would not have existed. She had unconsciously pulled her hand out of her son’s hair and it would have been a lie if she would have said that she was not expecting to be met with one of the boy’s extreme tantrums. It did not come. Instead of small, balled up fists and anger-filled snarls, Friedrich Wilhelm showed nothing but tear-filled eyes and a hopeless expression to his mother - as if he had expected her to collect him into her arms like she had done it before his nature had begun to worsen. She did just that when the first twin set of tears rolled down Friedrich Wilhelm’s chubby cheeks. “Maman,” the young boy whispered, his speech cut off by a sob that was building itself up in his chest.

“It is alright, mon cœr,” Sophie Charlotte answered with a voice just as low, “I am here, it is alright.”

“I-I’m sorry, Maman. I’m so-orry.”

She had not expected her son to sob a repetitive apology into her ear, but it did not surprise her as much as it should have done it. Humming, she brought a gentle hand up to cup the back of Friedrich Wilhelm’s head after the boy had turned his face into the side of her neck. She knew that it would have been in vain for her to ask questions about the possible reason behind his behaviour. Her son was too young to answer as for why he was behaving in the way that he did, as for why he felt the need to use his fists so much and while the members of their court were running their mouth about the _devilish_ electoral prince, Sophie Charlotte knew, in that very moment, that she had not lost him completely. “ _Es-tu toujours mon ange?_ ”

Friedrich Wilhelm continued to sob quietly for a while, his small hands clinging onto the back of his mother’s dress while his face remained hidden from sight. “D-Do-o you still lo-ove me?”

She failed to keep herself from gasping. “Of course I do, my love. You are my son.”

“Pa-apa said that you do-on’t lo-ove me any-anymore,” the boy sobbed, sounding utterly heartbroken.

Muttering a curse directed at her husband under her breath, Sophie Charlotte pressed a lingering kiss against her son’s temple. “I am disappointed with your behaviour, Fritz,” she whispered against the skin she had kissed, “but it will never change my love for you.”

“N-Ne-ever?”

“Jamais mon amour, je vous le promets.”

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp, I hope that it wasn't too bad... I'm really trying to _not_ let this writer's block establish itself xD


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